I forced a smile and said, “Sometimes our minds play tricks when we dream. There is nothing to be afraid of.”
But I was afraid. When I told Ryan, he tried to comfort me. He said, “Kids imagine things. She probably had a half dream. The house is safe.”
I nodded, though the look in Sophie’s eyes would not leave my thoughts. That evening, after everyone slept, I ordered a small camera online. I told myself I only wanted reassurance.
Two days later I installed the camera in the corner of Sophie’s room near the ceiling. I checked the feed before bed and saw my daughter sleeping peacefully, curled under her blanket. I finally breathed with relief.
At two in the morning I woke up thirsty. Half asleep, I walked to the kitchen and glanced at my phone. On impulse I opened the camera feed.
My heart stopped.
Sophie’s door opened slowly. A figure entered, moving carefully, almost cautiously. The dim night light revealed thin shoulders, silver hair, and a familiar nightgown.
It was my mother in law, Evelyn Parker.
She walked to Sophie’s bed, lifted the blanket gently, and slid under it beside my daughter. Sophie shifted in her sleep and pressed toward the edge of the mattress. Evelyn placed a hand on Sophie’s arm, as though soothing a child, and stared up at the ceiling with empty eyes.
I stood frozen in the kitchen, my hand covering my mouth so I would not scream.
Evelyn had lived with us for three years. She was seventy eight, widowed for decades, and had raised Ryan alone after his father died in a car accident. She had worked in diners, cleaned offices, and mended clothing at home to support her son. Ryan often told me stories of coming home to find her sewing by dim lamp light, saving every dollar so he could attend college. She had been his world.
When Ryan became financially stable, he insisted she move in with us. At first she was lively and warm. She baked cookies with Sophie, told stories about old movies, and watered the garden every morning. But over time small changes appeared. She forgot names. She misplaced objects. She sometimes repeated the same question several times in one conversation.
A doctor told us she had early cognitive decline. We promised to care for her, but none of us realized how far her mind could wander.